


And Down We Go...

by HR_Hext



Category: Alice In Wonderland - Lewis Carroll
Genre: Cats, Gen, Hypnosis, Predatory vibes, Supernatural - Freeform, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:55:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27999372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HR_Hext/pseuds/HR_Hext
Summary: When Alice Kingsley is kidnapped by the mysterious Mr. Edwards, she gets pulled in to a mad ratrace through the depths of Wonderland.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	1. Leather Seats and Ticking Clocks

**Author's Note:**

> It has been 5 years, but I have awoken from my slumber... (All my previous fics are gone, so it's not like anyone's gonna recognise me.) Anyway, let's see how long this lasts...

All she could hear was the ticking of a clock. The slow, steady, monotonous beat drowning out all the sounds in the room. If she concentrated hard enough, she could swear she heard cars outside.  
_  
Tick, tick, tick._

The room she was in was completely dark. She had to focus. “Remember every little detail. It might save your life.” Her father had taught her that years ago. She wasn’t paying attention. It was just her father being paranoid about the big, bad world beyond. She wasn’t as scared as he was; she could take care of herself. She had to focus now.

_Tick, tick, tick_

There was someone else in the room. She swore she heard someone patter around the room, opening desks or cupboards, rustling papers. Focus on every little detail. Their steps were quick, almost nervous. And light. A small man, or a woman. She immediately pushed that last thought out of her mind. Not a woman. She wasn’t sure why. Intuition, perhaps, if such a thing even exists. There was something else about them. They were muffled, or muted, as if the person was wearing slippers. Or perhaps he was a giant animated teddy bear. She almost giggled out loud, before she caught herself. Maybe he doesn’t know she was here too. She  
tried to focus on the sounds again, but she couldn’t hear anything through that constant ticking.  
_  
Tick, tick, tick.  
_  
The patter was gone; she was alone. Only now she seemed to notice the chair she was sitting in. It felt like leather. Was this the kind of detail her father had meant? Could the fabric of a chair really be the decisive clue in capturing a criminal on the loose? How many rooms with leather chairs would there be in London, let alone in all of England? Would the police really go and investigate every house with a leather chair and interrogate every owner of a leather chair in the country in order to find one person? And why was she so tired?  
_  
Tick, tick_

She tried to pull herself up and out of the leather chair. For some reason the thought of trying hadn’t occurred to her until now. Maybe she had simply assumed she would have been tied up. That’s what the papers say. “Kidnapped girl found tied up in basement.” The kidnapped girls in the papers never get the chance to walk around the room.  
With great energy she managed to lift herself out of the chair. Her eyelids were indescribably heavy, despite having been in that chair for what felt like days, or worse? How long had she been unconscious? This wasn’t the time for questions, she quickly reminded herself. Focus on the details. First, she would try to find a light.  
_  
Tick, tick_

It became easier to ignore the noise of that ever-present ticking. She had begun to recite nursery rhymes in an attempt to drown out the noise. _Mary, Mary quite contrary. How does your garden grow?_ Her mother used to sing nursery rhymes to her when she was younger. She wondered why she suddenly had to think of nursery rhymes. She was a grown-up now, she listened to her own music. At least, she swore she did. She finally found a lantern, and she lit up the room in a low, yellow glow.

_With silver bells and cockel shells_

The room was small. A dusty brown blinder covered the window, a halo of soft light encircling the covers. Under the window was a large wooden desk. It’s drawers had been left open. That must’ve been what the footsteps were looking through. As she tried to make her way to the desk, she noticed that the floor was covered in papers. They were official looking documents in all sorts of language. Some languages she could read, most she couldn’t. Some language she had never even seen before. ”A royal invitation,” one read. “The Queen extends a cordial invitation to Mr. Edwards for the upcoming Anniversarial Games. He may bring his cat.”  
Fantastic, a royal connection. Even if the police were going to find her, they wouldn’t arrest him in this case. Was Mr. Edwards the owner of the footsteps before? Or perhaps she heard his cat? The only thing she knew for sure is that he wasn’t very keen with his official documents   
_  
Tick, tick_

She had to get out of here. The windows weren’t an option. A kidnapper always keeps his prey in the attic or the basement, she knew that much. She clearly wasn’t in the basement, and she wasn’t jumping out of the attic window. A door then; every room has a door. There was a door. It was redwood, expertly made. There was an intricate pattern of hearts in the middle — seven of them. It made her think of a giant playing card. She giggled, out loud this time. If anyone was going to hear her, they would’ve heard her by now. Carefully, she reached out for the handle, and she tried to open the door. Locked.  
_  
And so my garden grows  
_  
She needed a key. She needed a key, fast. Between the ticking of the clock - where was that clock even - and the nursery rhymes, a third sound had appeared. A set of footsteps. Hard footsteps. Someone was walking through the house with purpose, and soon enough that purpose would be her. She was desperately pulling open drawers and boxes. Why would someone even keep the key in the room with the captive? She couldn’t let that thought linger. She had to keep looking. There had to be a key.  
_  
Tick._  
  
The door opened. A silhouette of a man appeared in the opening. As he entered the room, she saw his sharply cut face, and his fine three-piece suit. He was wearing a top hat with a long, purple ribbon hanging from its band that reached down to his shoulder. He was holding a cat. His smile was kind, but wrong. The teeth were slightly too white, and slightly too perfect.  
“Ah, Alice. I am so glad you could join us here, once again,” Mr. Edwards spoke, his voice dark and gentle, working an almost trancelike effect on Alice. He stepped forward, and Alice felt herself blacking out again.  
The last thing she saw was his cat. She could’ve sworn it grinned.  
  



	2. Rabbit-Holes and Looking-Glasses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Edwards brings in an old looking-glass, kickstarting Alice's journey to Wonderland

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A second chapter? Me? Who would've thunk. Let's hope you enjoy it. And if you do, don't be scared to leave a kudo, a comment, or to share this story. Doing nice things makes you feel good, trust me.

“Alright, Alice. It will only be a little longer, and we will be on our way.” Mr. Edwards entered the room again, pulling behind him a large contraption covered in a ragged old blanket. The wheels squealed as he carefully rolled the thing into the room, kicking papers out of the way left and right. Once he had decided on an appropriate position, he took a step back and in one fluent motion and with a certain grace - the kind you would expect of a practiced magician - he pulled away the blanket. Behind it was an old looking-glass. Edwards sighed heavily as he took in the sight of the mirror. “You are just as beautiful as I remember.”  
Alice was looking at the man, entranced by the mirror, from the big chair in the middle of the room. She was tied down this time, with leather straps around her wrists. “Please understand I am not one for tying down little girls to big chairs,” the hatted man had said. “But apparently we cannot have you walking around on your own. Just look at this mess you made.” Alice protested, but as much as she tried to tell him it wasn’t her that made the mess, Edwards seemed to have made up his mind. “A man wearing slippers? Silly girl. I don’t own slippers.”

The mirror looked like one someone might find in a haunted house, in which you can only see yourself, until you look closer and suddenly see the vague image of a devil behind your shoulder. It also looked like one someone might find in a secondhand store, shoved all the way in the back, the paint cracked and the glass smudged, donated by an old widow who could not bear to look into it again, because every glance would remind her of her husband. As Alice felt herself drifting off into her fantasy, she suddenly noticed the clock had stopped ticking. 

The mirror frame was decorated with golden reliefs of rabbits, mouses, birds, and other small critters. Its feet were perfectly sculptured human hands, painted gold. If the light of the candle on the desk hit the frame in just the right way, Alice thought she could almost see a nail on its pinky. Why would someone sculpt the nails? Perhaps these were once real hands, belonging to a real person. Alice pushed away that thought. She didn’t know any golden people. Alice snapped forward as she felt Edwards’ cat brush behind her neck. 

“Stay awake, little girl.” A deep voice filled the room. It was the kind of voice that shook the earth; the kind of voice you would like to sing you to sleep. Alice couldn’t see where the voice was coming from. It must’ve been Edwards. He was still standing with his back towards her, so it must’ve been him. 

“Now, Alice, pay attention.” This was certainly Edwards: he had turned around. “We are going on a little journey. I’ve told some of my friends about you, and they are mighty excited to meet you. It would be awfully rude to let them wait. Have you ever travelled by looking-glass, Alice?” He stopped to wait for a response, but before Alice could tell the man she hadn’t, he continued, “I assumed as much. It is not the safest way to go down, I must admit, but it is also far from the most dangerous.” Edwards let out a high-pitched giggle and he leaned in until he was almost nose-to-nose with Alice. “Never trust a tortoiseshell cat, Alice, they are deceitful little liars,” he whispers, as he shoots a quick dirty glance towards his own cat on the desk. The cat looks at him with a look of indignancy, as to say, What are you looking at me for? I’m not a tortoiseshell. He wasn’t: he was a British Shorthair.

Alice could hear a siren somewhere outside. She remembered the day in class when Mrs. Daring taught them to recognise the different sirens. Alice was fairly sure that this siren was that of a police car, an ambulance, or the firemen. Edwards’ face turned sour, and he rushed off towards the window, shouting something in a language Alice didn’t recognise. He popped his head behind the curtain to look outside. When he turned back, for a second he looked furious, before he caught himself and flashed Alice his smile again.  
“People nowadays are so rude, aren’t they, Alice? What has come to this land?” Edwards turned back to the mirror. “We should be almost done. I’m sorry it’s taking so long. I normally don’t travel by looking-glass. I think it needs just a little-” 

A knocking on the door downstairs. Edwards froze. His hand quickly clenches. He takes his tophat, carefully places it in Alice’s lap, and rushes downstairs. He was looking very disgruntled at this second interruption. The second Alice heard the man’s footsteps descend the stairs, Edwards’ cat hopped off the desk and casually swayed towards her and with a graceful leap, jumped into Alice’s lap, knocking off the hat. Instinctively, Alice tried to bolt forwards, before being reminded of the restraints still tying her to the chair. Slowly the hat started rolling towards the mirror until it softly tapped the mirror frame and came to a gentle stop. The mirror started glowing ever so faintly.

“Who is it?” Annoyed at the disturbance, Edwards opened the door. To his shock and surprise, he saw a group of figures, consisting of 2 police officers, and behind them a well-dressed man of around 45.  
“Henry Edwards?” the first officer asked. Edwards looked at him for a moment before giving the man a confirming grunt.  
“We are part of an investigation for a missing girl. We have reasons to believe she might have been last seen in this part of town, so we are conducting door-to-door searches. Would you mind if we had a look inside your home?” The officer, assuming the man wouldn’t protest, tried to take a step into the hallway.  
“Actually, I am quite busy right now. Might I ask you to come back later.” Edwards said coldly, blocking the officer from entering his house. 

The mirror was glowing brightly now. The glass seemed to have melted away. Instead, there was only pitch-black darkness. Alice could feel a wind picking up, yet the curtains remained still. She could feel the chair below her shifting. It was heading towards the mirror. Alice looked at the mirror, at the straps around her wrists, at the cat on the floor, trying to find a way to get out. She felt the blood rushing to her head. Focus, her father had told her. Focus. Alice took a deep breath and with all the strength she had in her, she pulled at her restraints. Her movements, and the chair’s movements, caused her balance to shift. Before long, Alice felt herself falling. Focus, her dad had said. And if focus doesn’t work, scream.

The men looked up as a loud noise came from the upstairs. A loud crashing. A little girl screaming.  
“Alice!” The man standing in the back suddenly rushed forwards, shoving Edwards aside and making his way towards the stairs. Quickly, Edwards got up and made his way after him. Catching up with him, Edwards made a grasp at the man’s legs. The man instinctively kicked back, hitting Edwards on his hand. Frustrated and in pain, Edwards grabbed his ankle and janked him back. The man crashed into the staircase. A loud crack echoed through the hallway. The man turned towards Edwards, his face covered in blood, and forcefully kicked towards him, causing him to tumble down the stairs. Having finally reached the top, the man opened the door.

Alice was laying on the floor. The broken pieces of the chair were laying around her. She was free, yet she still felt herself moving towards the mirror. The wind was picking up stronger now. She stood up, trying to find her balance. She fell down again immediately. The cat was still sitting there, looking at her, completely motionless. As Alice felt herself being dragged towards the looking-glass, she heard the door open. She felt relieved and scared, but mostly scared. Edwards might be able to help her. Edwards wouldn’t help her. Even she realised that. She saw a man enter the room. Father?

Mr. Kingsley rushed in, seeing his daughter being slowly dragged towards to mirror in the centre of the room. Papers were flying around like crude confetti. He bolted towards his daughter. Somewhere downstairs, he could hear shouts of pain, and it sounded like someone was slammed into a wall. He extended his hand, trying to grab his daughter’s arm as the wind swept her off her feet. He saw his daughter tumble backwards into looking-glass, and then she vanished. He was too late. Looking at the strange glass in front of him, Mr. Kingsley took a deep breath, said a prayer, and he jumped. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Alice wasn’t falling. She was floating. It was like she was underwater, gently sinking. Around her floated pictures, and papers, and books, and other things. She supposed she was dead. She had heard people discuss dying before, and this might as well be it. It was like everything slows down, they had said. And you see your life flash before your eyes. That must be why there were those pictures. She could see one of her and her family. Her sister Margaret, mother, and father. They had gone to the beach last summer. Alice hoped death was like that beach. She wouldn't mind being dead much if it was. 

Alice tried to remember her saints. That was what happened after you died. You went to heaven and Saint Peter would test you if you had been nice enough to enter and he would see if you knew your saints. Let’s see: Saint Francis, because he talked to animals; Saint Peter, of course; and Saint Nicholas, because he brought gifts. She felt like there must’ve been more.

After what felt like a long while of falling and thinking, Alice gently reached the floor. She was standing in a round room, with doors all around her. In the middle of the room was a table, and on it was a little note and a small bottle with a tiny blue ribbon. Alice picked up the note to see what it read.  
“Welcome to Wonderland. Please enjoy your complimentary drink, and we hope you enjoy your stay!” Alice turned around the note. There was a design of a sleeping mouse laying in a teacup. Below it said, it curly red letters: The Sleeping Dormouse: Hotels and Lodgings.


	3. Little Boys and Knaves of Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonathan Kingsley meets a guide. Mr. Edwards gets a second chance.

There came a sound of footsteps from the hallway below. Jonathan Kingsley found himself standing in a room similar to the one he could have sworn he had just left but a second ago. He must’ve hit his head against the mirror. He must’ve blacked out. This room was almost identical. The same chair, the same desk, even the curtains were all the same. But this room was tidy. Not tidy, John thought to himself, abandoned. There’s a difference. A tidy room would have the papers that were strewn through the room in neat, precise bundles on the desk. An abandoned room lacked paper altogether. He had never thought he’d ever think it, but this room was simply too neat, too tidy, too clean. There was a tenseness. The same tenseness observed in servant minutes before the guest would arrive. The tenseness you can feel in your stomach when you receive a letter that you know you do not want to read. The room was waiting for someone. There came a sound of footsteps from the stairs outside. 

Only now did Jonathan realise the two biggest differences between that old room and this new one. This room lacked a mirror, and it lacked Alice. John rubbed his fingers across his forehead. She couldn’t have gone far, and there were more pressing matters right now. There came a sound of someone turning the doorknob from the hallway. Jonathan searched the room for something he could use as a weapon. Something sturdy. Even if he couldn’t find his little girl, he was going to make sure that man got what was coming for him. On the desk stood an ornate lamp. That’ll do. 

Slowly the door opened. Jonathan stood there, waiting for him to come. He grasped the light tightly. If that man dared hurt his Alice, he was going to break more than just his nose. The door opened, John raised his arm. The door opened, the hallway was empty, and before Jonathan could properly process this information, he could feel something pulling his arm back. 

“Could we please be a little more careful with such a delicate object. That was expensive! I think.”

John twisted around, equally surprised by the voice behind him and the person pulling the lamp from his hands. On the desk sat a man, a boy even. A kid, coming up to his hip, was standing straight, wearing a black vest and trousers. He missed some of his teeth. His eyes were a light grey, like the sky on those days you just knew the sun was shining behind the clouds. 

“Who-?” John turned to the boy. The way he sat there on the desk, casually laying himself over the table. It almost made him angry. Didn’t he know what had just happened here?

“I believed I asked you first.” John didn’t remember being asked anything, but he sensed that there was little use arguing. 

“My name is Jonathan. Jonathan Kingsley.” 

“Alright, Jack. Pleasure to meet you.” The boy jumped off the desk and walked out into the room. Although, at second glance, “walking” didn’t seem like the right word. The boy seemed to move a few inches above the ground. 

“And who might you be?” John tried to look at the boy’s feet. He appeared to be standing flatly on the ground. Of course he did. Boys don’t float. That’s ridiculous. 

“Lost, you say?” the boy answered. “That explains why you took your entire house with you.

“This isn’t-”

“Luckily for you, I know where you’re going. I’ll guide you!” Jonathan was starting to wonder if the boy could even hear him. He decided not to test his theory. Suddenly, he heard the boy’s voice come from below.

“You coming, Jack? The Queen doesn’t take kindly to waiting.” 

John couldn’t remember the last time he had felt as confused as he did at this moment. First, this boy appears, seemingly out of nowhere. Then, he is completely ignored by said boy, and now, that kid is saying he knows the Queen? Jonathan had never met the Queen, but he knew people who had. This boy was about as far removed from those people as an apple was to a South-African anteater. 

He decided to follow the boy. Perhaps the Queen knew where to find his daughter. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought. He must really have hit his head on that mirror. 

\----------

Henry, Henry, Henry. When we thought you couldn’t sink any deeper, you impressed us yet again with your sheer incompetence.” The slow claps of the Knave echoed through the room. Edwards sat on a bench, his hat on his hands. It was the only piece of furniture in the room. The rest was bare and grey. 

“We gave you the Looking-Glass. We gave you the girl’s location. We gave you the fucking Cat!” His face was dangerously close now. Edwards could make out the wrinkles around his eyes. The young hairs of a new moustache on his lip. The sickeningly sweet stench on his breath, like pastries with too much glazing. “And still you manage to screw this up. Really, I’m impressed.” 

The Knave reached into the pocket of his vest, and pulled out a card. An Ace of Hearts. “Because I’m feeling particularly generous today, I’m going to give you one last chance. I do hope I don’t need to remind you what happened to the last person we asked?” Edwards felt a cold tingle creep up in the back of his neck. He knew full well what happened to the last person. Everyone did. Slowly, he stood up, and walked towards the door. His gaze was fixed at the bronze, heart shaped door knob. Anything to avoid looking at that man. 

“Oh, Henry?” Edwards' heart jumped. Please say the Knave hadn’t changed his mind. Please. “Try not to get any dirt on my card, please.” The Knave flashed a smile. His teeth were crooked and yellow. Dirty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed, please consider commenting and sharing. (I promise Ch. 4 will feature slightly more Alice)


End file.
